


4 Times Crowley was Mistaken for Something Else and One Time Aziraphale Was

by Casidi_Mac



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Car Accidents, Cults, Djinni & Genies, Drunk Driving, Emotionally Constipated Aziraphale, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Humor, M/M, Mass-Hysteria/Witch Hunt, Mistaken Identity, Mythology References, Sneople, Temporary Character Death, Threats of Violence, Vampires, Zombie, irresponsible alcohol consumption, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casidi_Mac/pseuds/Casidi_Mac
Summary: 4 times throughout history that Crowley was mistaken for various other Occult beings, the consequences of which range from being followed by a kid demanding wishes to an angry mob trying to kill him. Good thing he has Aziraphale to pull him out of hot water.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	1. One: A Genie

**Author's Note:**

> I tried and tried to write a proper 5+1, but chapter 2 just would not come so here's Chapters 1, 3, 4, 5 and +1, Maybe one day Chapter 2 will make an appearance. Any and all opinions or beliefs expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author.
> 
> CW for Chapter 1: There is a scene where Crowley threatens a young person and is kind of rough with them. The scene is short and nothing bad actually happens to the young person, but take care of yourselves.

“For the _last_ time" Crowley growled “I am not a djinn! I cannot grant wishes and I don't _care_ what you do with that _stupid_ ring!”

The young boy who had been following him for the better part of the last 3 days did not seem to take this to heart any more than he had the last few hundred times Crowley had said it.

“You can't fool me.” The boy said “I saw you grant a wish! Mustafa couldn't have gotten Rebekah to look at him twice if a djinn didn't do it!”

Crowley knew the Rebekah in question had indeed looked many times at this boy's friend but had needed a bit of a tempting to act on her desires. It wasn't even what he had been here for but the way she looked at the other young man, lovestruck and despairing, was sickening to Crowley every time he saw it, so he gave her a bit of a push. (Literally: she, usually the picture of grace, had ‘tripped’ over her long skirt in the market and the young man she was so enamored with had picked up her escaping fruits for her. Disgusting.)

Now he was being followed around by this stupid kid who kept insisting he must be a Djinn, and demanding wishes from him.   
“Is it because Mustafa didn't use all his wishes yet?” The kid asked “I thought taking the ring would be enough to break the contract?”

The kid made a disgusted face “But all he cares about now is making kissy faces at Rebekah.”

“Yup, that's it" Crowley said, seizing the opportunity “Can't transfer the contract until this one is completed. Go bother him to make his other wishes. Can't do nothing for you.”

The kid, finally, ran off, giving Crowley a moment of peace. He hissed in relief and was finally able to make his way to the estate of the person he was _actually_ here for.  
______________  
He was making inroads. Achieved introductions and confidences. He was, at this very moment, speaking to the brother of his target, who was more open to Crowley's machinations and also already had the trust of his more powerful brother. Would practically do the work for him, if Crowley played his cards right, and then Crowley might be able to enjoy the sea and the seasonal fruits. (Good luck getting him to admit that he actually had quite the weakness for fruit.) 

“You can't trust him, Sir!” An instantly infuriating and recognizable voice yelled from atop a nearby roof. “He's a nasty lying Djinn!”

The man he was speaking with shot him an appraising look, features going stiffer as he took in Crowley's unnatural -for the area- hair colour and trying to see past his smoked glasses. 

“Oh, come now,” Crowley tried, sensing his easy ticket slipping away “He’s just got an overactive imagination. Kids, you know. An esteemed man such as yourself can't go around believing everything he hears” 

“Yes" The man said, preening a little under the praise usually reserved for his brother “Of course, that wouldn't do" He cast another suspicious glance at Crowley's eyes and Crowley willed himself not to flinch under the scrutiny.

“However," The man continued “I do think I am late for my next appointment so I must take my leave for today.”

Crowley gave his pleasant and charming goodbyes, all the while clenching his jaw and suppressing the hiss building in his chest. As soon as the man was far enough out of Crowley's view, he whirled around and stalked to the alley between the houses the boy had shouted from. He roughly yanked the boy down off the low roof and hauled him close to Crowley's face, glasses slipping and hiss emerging. ”You little shit. A _month_ of work down the drain because of your little _fantassssy_ I should ssskin you alive, you _mennaccccce._ ”

“Crowley!” Another instantly familiar voice carried down the alley. “Unhand that boy at _once!”_

Crowley briefly considered shoving the boy just to spite Aziraphale, and prove that he wasn't going to do things just because Aziraphale _asked_. Unfortunately, that was patently untrue and he had already been about to release the boy anyway, so he pushed him away with only a little bit of force and straightened himself to glare at Aziraphale as the boy ducked past him and ran out of the alley.

“What are _you_ doing here?” He found that, annoyed as he was, it took next to no effort to put the appropriate amount of venom in his voice for speaking to his ‘hereditary enemy’.

Aziraphale looked taken aback. Crowley decided the squirming in his gut had to be the excess of spicy food he'd had to eat since coming here to fit in.

“For work, of course" Aziraphale sniffed, glancing around them surreptitiously, Crowley sneered at a passing pedestrian, and Aziraphale looked at him disapprovingly.

“Do you know anywhere we could go that's more private?” Aziraphale asked, obviously not catching his own entendre.

“t's almost lunch" Crowley offered, looking up at the sun, “I know a place.”

“Oh yes, that sounds just right.” Aziraphale beamed.

“Rrghk" said Crowley, which Aziraphale correctly interpreted as acceptance.  
_____________  
“Whatever were you threatening that young man for?” Aziraphale finally asked, after they had discussed where they'd been since they'd last seen one another, and Crowley had successfully been tempted to steal some pieces of mango from Aziraphale's meal.

“Ugh" Said Crowley “he's a _menace_ Angel, been following me around for weeks. Thinks I can grant wishes or some shite. It took me _ages_ to get an audience with that fellow and he comes and ruins it by telling him I'm a Djinn.”

“Ah, he revealed your true nature. Well, you shouldn't have been so careless, dear.”

“What?” Crowley said “I'm not a Djinn! You know I'm not a Djinn!”

“Well, aren't you? At least that seems to be what they call your lot, here.”

Crowley paused for a moment “Maybe, I don't know, I don't really keep up with those things.” He caught himself “That's not the _point_ Angel, he thinks I can grant wishes for him, he won't stop pestering me until I do.”

He grumbled something else under his breath, which might, to the careful observer, sound something like _‘not my fault he's so bloody_ perceptive'.

Aziraphale made a noise that could be interpreted equally as either sympathetic or contemplative. He had also finished off his lunch and seemed to be looking around desperately. Crowley assumed he was looking for an excuse to leave. (Crowley was wrong; Aziraphale was actually looking for an acceptable reason to prolong the lunch, as it had been such a very long time since he'd seen Crowley and really was curious what he'd been up to. ‘To know thine enemy' he would say if asked, which, at this point, he really did think to be true.) Crowley offered it to him. “Well, I've got a month's worth of work to make up on, so I best get to it.” He stood to leave as Aziraphale stuttered through assurances of the same. Crowley found he couldn't quite bear to ask what Aziraphale’s work here was, because he feared it would directly cancel out what he was doing, and then this whole ordeal would just have been an exercise in frustration.

“You know.” Aziraphale said, scrambling up to leave with him shoulder to shoulder. “I suppose I ought to help you with your Djinn problem”

Crowley shot a look at him, Aziraphale wasn't looking back. “Why?” Crowley asked “He's doing your job for you.”

“Well, yes, I suppose.” Aziraphale said, nervously rubbing his hands together. “But, it's the right thing to do, isn't it? Help someone in need, even if they’re you're enemy?”

“Sure" Crowley said, not sure at all “’s’pose so" He was actually quite certain that any other Angel would most assuredly evangelize about not enjoying the suffering of their enemies, all while remaining entirely aloof and above-it-all and not offering a single hand in assistance.

Their path took them through the market, it was a hub of activity as people were frantically trying to sell their wares to passersby who had ventured into the market to get their lunches for the day. 

“Oh! Look at that!” Aziraphale exclaimed, looking toward a quiet, alcove where a young couple was gazing lovingly at each other.

Crowley made a noise of disgust. 

“How wonderful that they’re so in love. It's funny, though…” said Aziraphale “it looks like there's a touch of influence on them, as if someone-"

Crowley clenched his jaw, knowing what was coming.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale said brightly. 

“It's not wonderful” Crowley growled “It's diabolical; tempt one person to lust, and then you get a chain reaction. Her parents will be furious, and they'll make everyone else around them miserable. Good – er Bad work well done for just a side job.”

Aziraphale made a humming noise that didn't sound nearly as convinced as Crowley would like.

“Do you hear that?” Crowley asked rather suddenly. No, he was not changing the subject, thank you very much. Also, to say that he _'heard'_ something was not totally accurate. Rather, he smelled the tiniest whiff of evil intent. Or mischievous intent.

That was all the warning either of them had before a dark shape descended from the rooftop upon them. Quite literally. A triumphant “haHA!” echoed from the sky before a figure landed on Crowley, bringing them both halfway to the ground before Crowley threw his extra-dimensional wings out behind him for balance, passing uncomfortably _through_ Aziraphale's corporation in the process. 

Crowley was too busy falling to the ground to catch Aziraphale’s reaction to that beyond an exclaimed “Oh my!”

“I've got you now!” An instantly infuriating voice screeched in Crowley's ear. “You can't escape from me this time, I've captured you!”

Before Crowley could tear the boy's skin from off his face and make him eat it, Aziraphale's voice interrupted his aggravated hiss.

“Remove yourself from him at once!” His voice was echoing and louder than it should be, but Crowley also knew no one would hear it outside of this little path they had been ambushed on.

The pest immediately stopped his screeching, climbed off Crowley and stood, quiet and still, next to him while he straightened up.

Aziraphale only maintained influence over him for a moment until Crowley was settled again, but even so, Crowley had to admit that seeing Aziraphale’s commanding side _did things_ to him, while also shocking him nearly to his core. What awesome power a full-powered angel wielded, and yet he thrived down here, eating and visiting and travelling along with the rest of these mortals, always seeming no more than a mild-mannered -if a tad fussy- man.

The boy scrunched his face up and looked ready to start in again on his tirade but Aziraphale continued, clearly not about to be interrupted.

“Now see here, young man. My friend here has told me all the trouble you've been causing him and it's time enough that you should leave him alone. That is not a ring of power you hold" Aziraphale looked sharply down at the twisting bronze ring that boy had stolen from his friend, thinking it held a Djinn contract. 

“ _This_ is" Aziraphale flashed his angel ring at the boy, with a flare for the dramatic that the Angel seemed constitutionally incapable of suppressing. Crowley barely schooled his face into calmness so as not to give away how _ludicrous_ it all was.

“This Djinn gave it to me as a symbol of his allegiance to me and me alone, so you cannot hold his contract, since _I_ do, under our mutual agreement. I’ve been away on business but I am back now and I assure you I take great issue with you _inconveniencing_ my friend, so. So… go along then. Leave us alone.”

Crowley said nothing. At the moment Crowley couldn’t have said anything because his brain had rather stopped processing anything. Did Aziraphale really just imply….?

“And before you get any ideas" He was still talking, how was he still talking? How was his voice still so normal after he'd just said…? “Stealing my ring is both very inadvisable for you, as we have established I have a _very_ powerful friend, and, for another matter, would not even transfer the contract to you, since this Djinn is a free Djinn and therefore no longer beholden to any contract if he does not wish to be.”

Crowley did not know what the boy was doing, he did not care because he was staring at Aziraphale. The way he looked just the same, but also practically glittered in the hot sun, the light bending around him as if unable to quite touch him, despite trying very hard indeed. His bright eyes were flashing and his smooth skin showed not even a hint of sweat. If Crowley really were a Djinn, he thought he might have thrown himself at Aziraphale's feet and begged to belong to him. As a full-fledged demon, only the scraps of his pride and dignity stopped him from doing just that, regardless.

“Now" And now Aziraphale sounded a bit nervous “if we're done here, my friend and I have somewhere to be, so…”

Crowley distantly heard a noise of annoyance and footsteps retreating from them.

“Hopefully that does the trick" Aziraphale muttered and now he was looking at Crowley and Crowley found himself still unable to marshal his words.

“Crowley, dear? Was that… do you think I've made it worse?”

“No!” Crowley suddenly exploded. “Er, no, no I think you’ve quite done the trick. Ehm, ththth…” Crowley trailed off into a hiss, feeling his tongue stinging as if he'd just drank an entire cup of vinegar “thhhank you" he pushed out, wincing a little as he felt a sharp pain on his tongue from the utterance.

“Thank you, Angel" The second time was easier.


	2. Three : A Vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this titled as Chapter Three rather than Chapter Two, you ask? Because I know what Chapter Two was SUPPOSED to be, and the chapters are meant to be chronological by year, and Chapter Two will take place BEFORE this one, technically.

Crowley sat in a tavern, drinking a cup of dark red wine. It was a bit dryer than he preferred, but beggars can't be choosers, and he was, currently, a beggar when it came to wine in 17th century Europe, so he enjoyed it as much as he could. People in the tavern were shooting him filthy looks, which usually, he would be quite pleased by, but at the moment, was feeling a little perturbed by. 

There had been a series of killings in the area -not his work- but the people were nervous, and about one spark away from alighting into a bonfire of blame and suspicion. Having seen several of these eruptions over history, he really would rather not be around when it happened here. 

He was here for a run-of-the-mill tempting, which he had expected to be over and done with in a few hours but had, unfortunately stretched on into several days of work. Normally, he would have given it up for a lost cause by day 2, but he had not been as cautious as he should have when he'd most recently done a favour for Aziraphale, and now, he was most certainly under surveillance. Although, whoever was observing him was clearly very skilled at lurking, since Crowley hadn't seen hide nor hair of them beyond a signature Hellish stench upon his arrival here. 

He had commandeered a local Lord's country home, upon a hill, overlooking the town, because if he was going to be stuck in this village, he was going to be stuck here in style. As he finished his wine, he made his way off toward the manor. People shifted rapidly out of his way as he walked through the town streets, as they well should, and he found a permeating scent of garlic throughout the whole village that was making him sneeze. If they had so many spices to spare why was the food here so utterly bland? _Humans._

He strolled up to his manor, long dark robes swishing appropriately dramatically behind him as he muttered to himself about the priest he was supposed to tempt. He was a moral bugger, and there was no indication that he had any interest at all in succumbing to greed and stealing from the offering tray. Crowley figured if the awful, dry, times weren’t tempting him to skim a little off the top for some fun, there was nothing Crowley was going to be able to do to make him. 

He flopped himself down dramatically on the bench in the front hall and decided he would have a bit of a nap; his observer could stuff it. Crowley wouldn’t be able to maintain a low profile if he kept wandering around all hours of the night when there wasn’t even anything to do since all the humans were, predictably, asleep.

Crowley awoke to a pounding on his door. He sat up, blearily, only half awake, smoked glasses falling away from his face. What in Hell’s name was that awful racket? He stumbled up toward the door and peered through the closest window. 

Crowley fell back in shock when he met the eyes of a young girl who was also gazing through the window, presumably looking for him. She fell away and started screaming and waving her arms at something Crowley couldn’t quite see. He shifted position and finally caught sight of what was going on. 

The villagers had all gathered outside his home, wielding a pine log that had recently been cut and sharpened at one end. A battering ram? What the blazes were they doing with that? He cast a gaze to the heavy wooden door that was, he noticed now, looking rather worse for wear than he’d last seen it. It was not going to hold up much longer; it was probably a Demonic miracle it hadn’t given up already. Crowley glared at it and _dared_ it to _break down, go ahead, see what he’d do to it then, it would make this look like a_ love tap. The door shuddered, but seemed to shore up its defenses while Crowley raced up to the second floor, his ascent aided only slightly by his dark wings. 

He cast his gaze around looking for _something, anything_ he could use to fend them off when they came bursting through. What the Hell did they want with him anyway? He hadn’t done a thing, in fact only a few days ago, he’d asked a local craftsman if he could pop in and look at his wares, thinking he might find something amusing to show to Aziraphale next time he saw him, and the man had practically _screamed_ “NO” at him, before turning and fleeing. Crowley had done the _nice_ thing, the _respectful_ thing and left the man alone after that, rather than the _nasty_ thing he’d wanted to do, which was curse the man to accidentally hammer a nail through his hand next time he made one of his _trinkets._ He’d practically been a _delight_ while he stayed here, beyond the whole tempting-the-local-priest thing. And now they bloody wanted to _discorporate_ him, ungrateful bastards. It would be unbearably embarrassing to be discorporated now, 7 days into a simple tempting and already on thin ice. He'd be the laughingstock of Hell for centuries to come. 

A mighty crash sounded from downstairs and Crowley swore vengeance upon the tree that had been used to craft his door and all its' descendants. (The tree's name roughly translated to ‘Trevor’, Crowley made sure his descendants were favored by dogs for peeing on for centuries to come.)

“I saw him turn into a bat and fly upstairs! We must act swiftly!” A man yelled, voice cracking slightly in youth

“We must be careful, his mistresses might be about his lair!” An older voice cried back.

“To kill a Vampire we must stake him through the heart, cut off his head and burn the body!” A third voice yelled, female and authoritative. “Then we must find the grave of his original body, burn the ground and eat the dirt of his grave!”

This all seemed rather much, and Crowley resisted the urge to ask if you were supposed to eat the grave dirt before, or after, it was burned.

“Search the house for any bodies or minions!” The same voice who'd been yelling about mistresses commanded. 

Feet started stomping throughout the building, racing through the corridors and... it sounded like tearing up his floorboards with an axe? The house didn’t even have a basement, did they imagine all Vampires had underground crypts in their homes?

Crowley had been pacing through the upstairs study looking for something with which to defend himself, but harm or death to a human to avoid discorporation was a no-go, even for Demons. (The argument being that if they held in their heart the desire and propensity for murder, they should be allowed to exercise that desire and damn themselves, even if their desire was to murder the Demons themselves. Crowley rather thought forcing Demons to allow Humans to kill them was just another method to humiliate and torture their Damned souls.)

The door to the study banged open and a mob of men armed with farm implements and torches invaded the room.

“Ah, shit" 

Arms bound behind his back by some bailing twine and the rough hands of the largest of the men upon his arms and shoulders, he was forced out into the noonday sun. Well that wasn't right, he'd gone to bed in the late afternoon and couldn’t have slept more than a few hours, he was sure of it…. 

He squinted his eyes against the glare and instinctually tried to throw up a hand to protect his sensitive eyes from the sun, but he was kicked in the shin for his trouble, apparently having given the impression that he was trying to escape.

Crowley couldn’t help but hiss nervously as they frog-marched him to the center of town, people screaming at him from the sidelines as he walked past them. Some threw garlic at him, making him sneeze, others threw rotted produce and animal feces. Great.

“Monster!” Screamed the townspeople.

“Vampire!” Screamed the farmers.

“Foul beast!” Screamed the craftsmen.

They were now past the gauntlet of the mob and were reaching the bottom of the hill, where the very edge of the village started.

“Knew he was bad news as soon as he showed up” Gossiped the farm wives.

“Lord Tracy's been dead for years, no heirs, guess he didn't think he'd need them, with this on the other side.” Gossiped the Merchant's wives.

They passed through the ‘higher class' parts of town and to the market.

“They gonna burn him, mommy?” Asked the farm children.

“They gonna cut off his head?” Asked the merchant children.

They were approaching the town square, crowned by the tidy chapel run by Father Andrew, the very-not-greedy priest.

“That's ‘im" Cackled one old geezer “’asn't aged a day since he was here 50 years ago" 

Crowley, had, indeed, been here 50 years ago, though he couldn’t remember why. He only remembered thinking at the time that the man building the house on the hill was a right prat; tempting _him_ to greed had been an easy side gig.

“Crowley?” Oh blessed, cursed, _whatever_ day. He knew that voice. Crowley's head whipped towards a familiar cherubic face and soft halo of curls. Aziraphale's eyebrows were scrunched in confusion. He was standing next to Father Andrew, looking as if they'd been talking.

“Angel?!” Crowley called. One of the rough men hit him over the back of the head again. “Not for you, foul beast, it's straight to Hell with ye', no escapin' yer fate.”

Crowley craned his head around to watch Azirapahale, as Crowley was marched past, he pleaded to be rescued with his gaze. 

He was dragged to the center of town and shoved down in the mud to kneel at the foot of the church. _Oh, no, this might actually get rather nasty._ One man grabbed his hair roughly in his hand and shoved his face forward, pushing it onto the consecrated ground. 

“AGH!” his skin sizzled, a hiss emerged from his chest and he lurched backwards, partially shifting before gaining control of himself.

“What's all this then?” Aziraphale's voice cut through the angry voices.

“Vampire, sir" Offered a young boy, no more than 14. “Finally caught him asleep, sir, folks been going missing since he showed up, old Peter says he recognizes him from when he was a young man. Says he hasn’t aged, sir.”

“Ah, yes, that all does seem rather damning" Aziraphale said, sounding to the casual observer to be just another curious onlooker, but to Crowley, who'd known him for 5000 years at this point, quite worried indeed.

More men came up behind Crowley and held him still, while one man holding a wickedly sharp knife approached him from the front. He looked as if he might be the butcher, or perhaps a skilled hunter, with a knife like that.

“Oh, this just won't do" A near-silent whisper; one Crowley only heard since he was listening very carefully for a very specific voice underneath all the shouting and insults.

A quiet _snap_ and Aziraphale cried “Oh my, would you look at that!” And many people, including all of Crowley's captors, did look, as a flock of ravens all simultaneously took flight from the roof of the chapel. In their distraction, his captors' grips loosened on his arms and legs

_Now might be a good time for a miraculous escape, Darling_ a familiar voice spoke in his head. Okay, that was new, didn't know Aziraphale could do that, but not the time to think on it. Crowley shifted completely, cover already massively blown, and figuring he might as well give the people what they wanted. 

As a giant winged serpent, with no arms or legs to be held by, Crowley slithered out of their shocked grips and took to the sky, wheeling off to fly as far away as he could before he would be seen by someone who wasn't already convinced he was a Creature of the Night.

He touched down far off to the West, in the middle of an empty field, and shifted back to his mostly human form, collapsing onto his buttocks and finally taking a deep breath while he waited.

He started shivering, sitting on the cold ground as the sky slowly grew darker. Finally, there was a whooshing sound and Aziraphale landed in front of him, looking quite concerned.

“My dear, are you all right?” He asked, kneeling to be at eye level with him. “Goodness, you've got quite the sunburn" He reached out and touched his hand gently to Crowley's face. It burned and Crowley recoiled instinctively. Aziraphale snatched his hand back.

“Crowley, dear?”

“Thanks for the save, Angel” Crowley finally found enough of his thoughts to order them together. “Would've been bloody inconvenient to be discorporated; never hear the end of it.”

“Of course," Aziraphale said, offering a small smile. “Nasty fellows, shoving you into the ground like that. What happened?”

“I'm… not totally sure" Crowley admitted. “Guess I was a strange man, come to town just before things started going wrong, and then, well I suppose they were a bit more prepared to see things that humans aren't, usually. Bloody newspapers.”

Crowley sat for a moment, thinking more about the Chapel and the small font of holy water that rested within. It certainly would have been more than enough to do him in, permanently, if they'd decided that was something that ‘Vampires' disliked. 

“What were you doing there?” Crowley asked, looking into Aziraphale's eyes. Aziraphale’s skin dusted itself lightly pink and he looked away rather quickly.

“Oh, you know, like you said, things weren't going too well for them. That priest, he prayed for guidance and assistance, and the Almighty saw fit to send me, or… well, send a memo down the ranks that eventually reached me. I was supposed to come and give them a stroke of good luck, a good bit of rain, some helpful minerals in the water, that sort of thing.” 

“Was that why I couldn't get the Priest to take the money? Your influence?” Crowley accused, feeling more back to normal as the conversation went on.

“No” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose “I didn't even show up until today. Appeared to the Father, all bright and shiny, since he's a man of the cloth, he knew who I was right off, he asked for help and I gave it. He's just a very kind man who cares a lot for this town.”

Crowley grumbled to himself.

“In fact, it was _him_ who alerted me to your situation. ‘I'm worried about the man on the hill’ He said, ‘Mason has got them riled up and I think they're planning to do something to him’” Aziraphale quoted. “He didn't want something to happen to you just because you were a bit odd and had bad timing. Poor fellow is probably feeling foolish now that you made a big show of going all snakey on everyone.”

Crowley felt a little bit bad at that admonishment, but he chalked it up to still being a bit grumpy from the _face-burning_ and _attempted decapitation._

“Should've just left when I realized he was going to be a hard sell. If it weren't for that- Ghk” said Crowley, looking wildly at Aziraphale “Did you sense any demonic presence there? Other than me?” He demanded. Oh, if his watcher had seen Aziraphale _help_ him, they were going to be in way bigger trouble than an angry mob very soon.

“No?” Aziraphale said, eyebrows scrunched in confusion “Well, when I arrived, I sensed something, but I seemed to have scared it off when I came down all, you know, glowing and such. Don't usually put on that much if a show, but the memo said- well"

Crowley found he could breathe again. He supposed a righteously glowing angel descending from the sky might scare off most general Demons. He hoped that was the case. He wasn't really in the mood to complain, considering he'd come out of it with nothing worse than a ‘bad sunburn' when it could very well have turned quite quickly to extinction.

“Here” Aziraphale said, clicking his fingers and holding out Crowley's customary smoked glasses “It's probably best you keep these on for now, I'm not likely to happen to be stopping in next time you get accused of being a _Vampire_. Honestly. The things they come up with these days.”

“Thank you" Crowley murmured, the glasses Aziraphale had manifested were actually a few decades out of style but Aziraphale didn't need to know that. Crowley reached out and took them with shaking hands and put them back on his face. And if they fogged a little, as if exposed suddenly to humidity, that was just because his face was hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I decide Aziraphale has a completely unmentioned-and-probably-never-to-be-mentioned-again ability to suit my own needs in this story? Yes. Yes I did.


	3. Four: Zombie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There is mention of a fatal (sort of) car accident caused by a drunk driver. The description is not graphic. Additionally; there is a confrontation with the driver, who expresses remorse, later in the story. 
> 
> I'm not super happy with how the confrontation turned out; in regards to attempting to balance the seriousness of the issue with the tone of this story. So, it's kind of a weird tonal mishmash that doesn't feel like it fit appropriately into either tone.
> 
> Any opinions or beliefs expressed or acted upon by the characters do not necessarily represent those of the author.

Crowley managed to get through the rest of the 17th century without further incident of mistaken identity, and the next time it happened was actually a few centuries later, in America, in a State called Louisiana. 

Mardi gras was coming up, and Crowley had decided to take a vacation. Events like Mardi gras were like a holiday for him. Humans practically did the tempting themselves, and if they didn't, a professional tempter such as Crowley barely had to breathe in their direction to push them over the edge. As a nice bonus, he always got the credit for it downstairs, regardless of whether he'd had a hand in it or not. Downstairs thought he did some of his best work at Mardi gras. Even if he wasn't doing much work at all.

At the moment, he was spectacularly drunk on several different genres of alcohol. The opening parade was just winding up and the air was ripe with sin of all sorts. Most of the alleys off the main drag were full of people having sex with people they shouldn't be. Delicious aromas filtered out from carts and restaurants along the main road. Bits left over of fabulous costumes and jewellery glittered in the street lights. A bouquet of sinful aromas that made Crowley stop for a moment just to taste the air.

That was when it happened.

An automotive came careening out from a side street, turning fast onto the main road. It was too fast and too startling for Crowley to avoid in his inebriated state and the front fender of the car slammed into him before he could do more than realize it was about to happen. 

Now, let us delve a little into what ‘discorporation' means for an occult being such as Crowley. 

Firstly: the body must actually be injured enough that the occult endurance can’t overcome it and heal itself. This covers occult beings from most not-immediately-lethal injuries, assuming that they can be healed quickly enough (ethereal beings have the advantage there, considering they can, in a pinch, heal themselves for the most part). Being hit by a car being driven much too fast head on, unfortunately, does fit this first criterion.

Secondly: their essence flees their body and returns to its origin. In this case, Hell. 

Then, once they've filled out the proper paperwork as to how they'd been discorporated - why they'd been there, what they'd been doing at the time, etcetera - they might be issued a new body if what they were doing was considered important enough. 

Now, it is here that the occult have the advantage, because they generally detested paper work -even the lower downs- so occult beings had far less paperwork to fill out than an ethereal being might. A Demon could -if they were suitably motivated- get through their paperwork in a matter of days, rather than weeks. As mentioned previously; it was Mardi gras, and Crowley was in rather good standing at the moment, so the lower downs were perhaps a tad bit more eager to get him back on Earth than they usually would be. As such, in their hurry to get Crowley back up there to continue what he’d been doing, the Lower Downs rushed the paperwork for his new body through. 

It was for this reason that Crowley was back on Earth, his body feeling mostly the same (They hadn’t changed any of the specs on his corporeal form; as that would have just taken more time and paperwork), in less than a week. Which meant it was still Mardi gras, and Crowley could still enjoy his holiday. Which he needed even more sorely after the discorporation, and the paperwork, and the recorporation. 

He was walking down the street, once again breathing in the scent of sin, and pulled off to a small speakeasy to order himself a Sazerac. He was leaning on the railing on the patio and sipping it as he watched people go by; wallowing in the night air. _Ah, Yes._ This was why he'd come to New Orleans. 

A few police officers strode by, clearly ignoring most of what was going on around them. They carried a few beighnets with them on their route. One of them turned towards Crowley and stopped dead in his tracks. Crowley mentally checked himself: Sunglasses? On, and too dark to see clearly if they weren't. Scales? As far as he could tell they were all hidden. He subtly reached up to stroke the side of his face where they'd often appear first. No, seemingly his skin was normal. Maybe he'd got the clothes wrong somehow? No, he was pretty sure most folks had been wearing the same as him, for the most part, and besides, it was Mardi gras, no one would look twice if he were somehow a century out of style by accident.

The police officer had grabbed his partner and pointed at Crowley, whispering something urgently. The partner looked at Crowley as well, and said something back. Crowley raised his tumbler a bit in a toast to them, and one sort of awkwardly nodded back. They seemed to have a quick bicker then, and Crowley wondered if he ought to leave before they came and talked to him. _No_ , that would just cause more trouble for himself and he'd already been discorporated once this century. He was rather keen to not do it again for another few hundred years if he could. He'd never hear the end of it if he got poofed down twice in one _week_. Although, he mused, it was so disorganized down there, they might just assume he was _still_ there from the first time. He could probably convince them of that; get everything pushed through a second time.

It seemed the officers had decided to approach him, and they quickly jogged across the street towards him, looking both ways very carefully before they crossed.

“Evenin' sir.” One said

“Evening.” Crowley replied. The younger looked a little taken aback by his accent for a moment.

“All right there, sir?” The older asked, looking very carefully at him.

“So far.” Crowley replied. “I'll be better once I've finished this.” He tilted his glass towards them, ice clinking against the edges.

They looked down at his drink and up at him nearly in perfect synchrony and Crowley tried very hard not to laugh.

“All right then, sir" The younger said “Have a good evenin' then, watch yourself.”

“Of course.” Crowley said, trying very hard to be charming and agreeable.

They turned to go and started whispering and bickering to each other immediately out of human earshot. (Which was far short of being out of Demonic earshot).

“I was sure it was him. It looks just like him, how crazy is that?”

“Can't believe there's two fellas with hair like that in this world, let alone just New Orleans.”

“Brothers, maybe? Might be why he's wearing the glasses, if he's been, _you know…_ ”

“Mardi gras magic, I s'pose"

Crowley pondered these words and finished his drink. First responders, maybe? For his accident? That made the most sense. He thought that those two would be the end of it, if that were the case. There was no one else who would've taken enough notice of him to miss him for the few days he had been gone. 

Crowley left the cup on the table and left the patio, striding down the street looking for something interesting to do. He garnered a few appreciative glances on his way and basked in the scent of lust he was inducing. He made a few more stops at places that served alcoholic beverages, becoming quite sloshed as the night wore on. His strut became more of a drunken sway. He wandered into the French quarter and spent the better part of 3 days on quite the bender. Tempting and giving in to temptation in equal measure. He had to prove that the rush job on his recorporation was worth it, after all.

In his moderately sober moments, he heard rumours being spread around the French quarter.

“Bodies gone missing, they've said. Bad juju, y'ask me.”

“I heard a dead man been walkin' ‘round town at night. Not lookin’ for nothin' in particular, far as anyone can tell, but can't be nothin’ good.”

Crowley, being more than halfway drunk, and still adjusting to his new body, was not putting two and two together.

“I saw that dead man, mama, the one's everyon' been talkin' ‘bout.”

“Hush, child, you ain't seen nothin’. That there's nothin' more than superstition.”

People started staying out of his way; although he barely noticed. When people started crossing themselves in his vicinity, he very much _did_ start to notice, because that _stung_ Thank-you-very-much. He was just starting to get testy about it when a familiar voice shouted at him from down the street as he was once again drunkenly swaying through the French quarter.

“Crowley!”

Crowley turned toward the noise, and predictably saw Aziraphale, who was barely short of running as he approached him.

“Oh, my dear, I was so w- concerned!” Aziraphale had reached out and laid a soft hand upon Crowley's shoulder, barely making contact.

“Whassat, Angel?”

“My goodness, you’re quite jagged on, aren’t you? Why ever for?”

Crowley couldn’t help but start giggling at the outdated turn of phrase.

“Oh, you're truly hopeless, come on.” Aziraphale lead him down the street and into an establishment that Crowley was fairly certain he'd already sampled. He tried to tell Aziraphale as much.

“By the state of you, I'd dare say you've already tried most of the places around here.” Aziraphale snapped back at him. Which was probably true.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley down onto a seat, and took the one opposite him at a table, thanking the waiter who dropped menus off for them. The waiter shot a wide-eyed look at Crowley and muttered something under his breath that must have been a prayer because Crowley hissed a little at the sting of it.

“Now what on Earth is going on, dear boy. I was ever so w- _shocked_ when you suddenly disappeared. What did you do?”

Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale was talking about. “Told you I was going to America, din't I? Asked if you had any favours need done while I was there?”

“No, not to _America_ you fool, when you disappeared _from the planet._ It was…. Disconcerting you know. I hadn't even realized how much your…” Aziraphale’s nose was wrinkled up adorably and Crowley valiantly resisted the urge to boop him. “ _essence_ presses upon mine all the time but suddenly it was just _gone_. Things were… much emptier than I'd ever realized they could be. I was so- what _happened?_ ”

“Oh" Crowley said, Aziraphale's words mostly filtering through. “I got hit by a car.”

“You _what?”_

“You know, an automotive? Motorized carriage. 4 wheels, made of metal, really fast?”

“I know what a _car_ is," Aziraphale snapped, which was news to Crowley "are you telling me you got _discorporated?_ ”

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, that's it. Popped back down to Hell. Loads of paperwork. Eurgh.”

“A week ago?” Aziraphale checked again “And you're back already?”

“mmm, yep." Crowley said, and plucked a piece of bread from the basket on the table, taking a bite before remembering he didn't usually eat. “Rush job from the lower downs. They think I'm responsible for what happens at Mardi gras" this last part he whispered conspiratorially to Aziraphale, nearly falling out of his chair as he leant forward to do so.

“Ah, yes, I suppose that would do it. And you've just been wandering around New Orleans since then? Getting spectacularly drunk?”

“Pretty much yeah.” Crowley said “few temptings here and there, it's so so _easy_ this time of year.”

“And you weren't worried about people getting _suspicious_?” Aziraphale asked

“Nah, no one to miss me anyway. Already ran into the coppers, they’re the only ones who would've even known, and they think I’m my own brother or some such thing. It's my _vacation_ , Angel. I’m not going to let a little disco- disc- discrapo- _death_ stop me.”

“Oh, dear. I really wish you would have told me about this beforehand.”

“’t's not like I planned on getting hit by a car.” Crowley whinged.

Aziraphale was chewing on his lip a little and looking around their table at the other diners. Crowley wanted to bite his lip for him. It looked delectable.

“No, no I suppose not dear, but it still would've been nice to know what had happened right away instead of… well worr- waiting.”

“Could list you as my next of kin, ‘f you'd like. You’d hear right away if anything happened to me then.” The words were out of Crowley's mouth before he'd finished thinking them. Once they were out, he wasn't entirely sure why he'd said it. It was incredibly unlikely he'd be discorporated again any time soon, or have any injuries to speak of that might require contacting a next of kin. But, in his inebriated state, it seemed the obvious answer to Aziraphale's problem, and he always wanted to fix any problem Aziraphale might have.

“O-oh, no I don't think that's necessary.” Yeah, Crowley had figured as much, they were supposed to be hiding their association, not getting it printed legally in traceable human documents. _Stupid._

“Although…” Aziraphale continued “Yes, I suppose we ought, so we know if anything happens to one another. That's actually quite a brilliant idea, my dear. What should I be then? Your cousin?”

“Sure.” Crowley said, despite the fact that he very badly wanted to suggest listing Aziraphale as his husband. He resisted only because he knew it wouldn't make sense; homosexuality was illegal pretty much everywhere right now and that didn't seem likely to change any time soon.

“We can get the papers drawn up as soon as we get back to London, are you quite done here, dear? I'm certain you must have _sampled_ most of what's on offer by now.”

Crowley was not entirely sure what Aziraphale was implying, but didn’t have it in him to care too much at the moment.

“Yeah, s'pose so. Mardi gras's nearly done now anyway.” This was true, although, in the decades to come, 'Mardi gras' would be celebrated for much longer than it currently was. 

They spent the rest of the evening with Crowley slowly sobering up and Aziraphale discovering the wonderful flavours of Mardi gras. Unbeknownst to Crowley, Aziraphale had decided that the next time Crowley decided to take a Mardi gras vacation, Aziraphale would insist on tagging along. (For _thwarting_ purposes, he would say, but he would be so very very easy to tempt into trying the variety of food available during the celebration. Mardi gras was _technically_ a religious holiday after all.)

Significantly more sober than he had been for the better part of the week, Crowley finally caught some of the whispers that floated around him. They were walking down the darkened street towards the hotel that Aziraphale had rented upon coming here to investigate Crowley’s disappearance. (Crowley did not have a hotel, as he had intended to spend very little time sleeping when the place was ripe for temptings 24/7 during the celebration.)

“There he is, that's the dead man.”

“A _bokor_ done summoned him up. Don't know why. Careful, child, or you'll be next.”

“Stay away from him, no good can come of it.”

Crowley was starting to feel rather tense, unwilling to endure a repeat of the _Vampire incident_ , he wished he could shift into his snake form and just ride along on Aziraphale's shoulders to help them both avoid any trouble. Unfortunately, shifting was not advised until at least one year had passed in a newly issued body; on the grounds that you might not be able to properly return to your corporation's shape after if you tried it. (Most demons didn’t listen; but look where that got Hastur.)

However, unlike the Vampire incident, people seemed mostly interested in staying out of their way and leaving them alone as they made their way back to the arts district.

“I thought you said no one would know you were gone" Aziraphale hissed at him.

“I guess news must have spread. Can't imagine why.”

Aziraphale gave him an incredulous look and seethed “My dear, you aren’t exactly a _subtle_ creature. I imagine you leave an impression most places you go. Especially if you _die horribly in the middle of the road_.”

Crowley supposed that Aziraphale had a point. 

They increased their pace in order to get to Aziraphale's lodgings; but a man stepped out in front of them rather suddenly and grabbed Crowley by his jacket, nearly throwing him into the nearest wall.

“aaghk!” said Crowley, flinching back and being rather certain he was about to get discorporated _again_.

“I'M S'RRY" His assailant wailed. “M SORRY, PLEASE I’M SHRY"

“Uh” said Crowley, opening his eyes and actually taking in the man who had him pinned. Not recognizing him, he shot a harried look up at Aziraphale, who seemed just a bewildered. People all around them on the street had stopped to stare, and pulled their friends and loved ones close as they tried to walk very fast away before they got caught up in anything.

One man across the street held up a bottle of spirits and yelled “WHOO! Fight!”

“I DIN' MEAN IT" His assailant sobbed against him, reeking of alcohol and leaning very close into Crowley's space. “I SHOULDN' BEEN DRIVING THA NIGHT"

 _Oh_. Crowley thought. 

“Oh dear” Said Aziraphale.

“PLEASE, ‘M sorry" the drunk man dropped to a whisper that Crowley wouldn't have been able to make out, if he were human, still slurring terribly.

“Uh" Crowley said again, awkwardly lifting his limbs up. He was unsure whether he should push the man off or comfort him, and doubly unsure of how he might go about comforting anyone if he wanted to.

“I din' mean to, I should've walked home.” The man was freely crying now, and shaking horribly in the night air, dressed even less suitably for the weather than Crowley was.

“Please, just do it. Just end it, I can't stand seeing you everywhere. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please stop torturing me like this. What do you want? What do you want from me? I'll give it to you. Anything, please.” Then he shoved himself away from Crowley, slamming Crowley’s head back into the wall I the process as he held up his hands in fear and screamed.

“OH GOD I DON'T WANT TO DIE, PLEASE ‘IM SHRY I’M BEGGING YOU, JUST LEAVE ME BE! I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN DRIVING THAT NIGHT.”

Crowley brought his hand up to the back of his head and felt pain when he prodded at it. He was definitely going to have a lump there, tomorrow.

“Sir" Aziraphale demanded. “Sir, please calm yourself!”

The drunk man threw himself to the floor in supplication and started praying and whispering more of the same as he already had been. The praying, so close to Crowley, made him itch and squirm as his feet started to tingle unpleasantly. He tried to edge away from the man, but the man grabbed onto his trousers and held him in place.

“Angel?” Crowley pleaded, looking wildly to Aziraphale, not quite sober enough to figure out how to deal with this on his own.

“Sir!” Aziraphale sounded sharper now, angrier. The man didn't even seem to notice him.

“Sir!” Aziraphale knelt down so he was at eye-level with the man who'd run Crowley over. He laid a hand upon his face and turned it to face Aziraphale. “You must calm down.”

“I must calm down" The man repeated. 

“What you did was very bad, and it is not in my power to forgive you.”

“I can't be forgiven.” The man sobbed, which was _not_ what Aziraphale had said, but Crowley supposed it was what the guilt-ridden man had heard.

“But I can help you find a little peace.”

“Please give me peace.” Crowley wasn't sure if the Angel's magic was wearing off, or just wasn't as effective against a man who had stumbled away from grace, in one way or another. 

“This man" and here Aziraphale gestured to Crowley. “Is not the man you killed.”

“He's not?” The man asked, looking up to Crowley, which made Crowley feel deeply uncomfortable. People were all staring now; completely caught up in the drama before them.

“No" Aziraphale answered the man. “He's that man's brother. He came here to meet his estranged brother and make amends with him, but you stole that opportunity from him.”

The man sagged beneath the words. Crowley marveled at the elaborate fiction Aziraphale was weaving. _Can't tell a lie, indeed._

“But he is not here to haunt you, or kill you. You need fear no repercussions from this man. Go this night in peace and seek forgiveness from someone who can give it.”

The man stayed kneeling, but took his hands off of Crowley and curled tighter into himself, sobbing uncontrollably. Aziraphale rose smoothly and dusted himself off.  
There were murmurs all around them and Crowley felt very unprepared to deal with anything that had just happened.

“C- can we go now, Angel?” Crowley whispered, head swiveling around them to all the people murmuring and whispering about what had just occurred.

Aziraphale looked again at the pitiful man clutching at himself on the ground. “Oh, my goodness, I think we'd better.”

Crowley grabbed tight to Aziraphale's jacket sleeve as they continued on their way. “I'm sssorry, Angel, I didn't think I'd caused so much trouble.”

“Oh, that's quite alright, dear" Aziraphale said, not seeming to really be listening. They walked a bit further before Aziraphale suddenly stopped and sighed. “Do you think I was a bit uncharitable with that man? Letting him think he killed someone, when you're really alright?”

It was far into the night by now and, if it weren't for the weak streetlights, Crowley wouldn’t have been able to see Aziraphale's deeply troubled face at all.

“No, I don't think so.” Crowley answered, although he was probably the exact wrong person to make judgements of that matter. “He could have just as easily killed someone; just because it happened to be me shouldn't let him off the hook for that, I'd think."

“I think you're right, darling.” Aziraphale said “Please be more careful dear. It really was quite disconcerting, with you gone like that.” 

Aziraphale flipped his wrist in such a way that Crowley had to let go of his sleeve, but this was quickly corrected when Aziraphale grasped his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

“I promise, Angel. I’m in no hurry to leave.” 

Aziraphale lead him by the hand the rest of the way to his lodgings, letting go only as they entered his rooms. Crowley collapsed onto his sofa as soon as they were in the door. He'd been awake for a week already; which was far longer than he was used to, and that was still without taking into account his discorporation, recorporarion, and confrontation with his discorporater. It had, all-in-all, been a rather exhausting week. 

“You can take the bed, dear, I don't use it.” Aziraphale offered. 

“Too late" Crowley said into the cushions. “’M here now."

“Alright then, get some rest, I imagine there'll be two seats open on an Imperial flight tomorrow"

“Gerfkk" said Crowley, which Aziraphale correctly interpreted as ‘perfect'.

“Oh, my dear" Aziraphale's voice and the soothing feeling of a hand in his hair filtered down to Crowley, already halfway into sleep. “We really are quite hopeless"


	4. Five: A Snake God? Maybe?

“I've started a cult.” Said Crowley.

“You've what?” said Aziraphale “I'm sorry, these… telegraph machines must not be working, I thought you just said you'd started a cult.”

“I didn't _mean_ to start the cult.” Crowley whinged “I just, okay, I may have encouraged them just a teeny bit, worship of false idols and all that. Kind of a big one. But they keep giving me… _things_. Angel please, I need your help.”

“You need my help.” Aziraphale did not sound amused. “You have a small army of people who want to enact your every whim and you need my help?”

“Alright, you're right. I messed up. I messed up big time. This one is definitely my fault but they keep….” Crowley dropped his voice down to a whisper, although there was no one around to hear him. “They keep trying to _sacrifice people to me._ ”

“What!” Aziraphale shouted over the phone, making Crowley have to distance himself from the receiver. 

“No one has been murdered!” Crowley interrupted before Aziraphale could get the wrong idea. “I wouldn't let that happen, you know I wouldn't…”

Crowley did not, actually, know for sure if Aziraphale _did_ know that. He wasn't entirely sure what Aziraphale thought of him anymore. Aziraphale was tellingly quiet on the other end of the phone line.

“I know, Crowley.” His voice had gone soft on the other end. “What do you think _I_ can do about this?”

“I don't know" Crowley said “Thwart me. _I’ve started a cult,_ Angel, pretty much whatever you do to stop me will be a-okay with upstairs, I figure.”

“What are you doing with the… um the... _human sacrifices._ ”

“Sneaking them out a window in my throne room.”

“Your _throne room?!_ ” Aziraphale screeched “What do you mean your bloody throne room? Who do they think you are?”

“Emissary of Satan perhaps?” Crowley said “Maybe some kind of snake god? I honestly haven’t been paying attention.”

“You haven’t been paying attention to your own bloody cult?” Aziraphale was more incensed than Crowley had thought he'd ever heard him. “That's, that's… that's _irresponsible_ is what that is. Oh, I should have never let you go to America; nothing good happens when you go there.”

Crowley resisted the urge to tell him that was rather the point and that nothing good seemed to happen if he went _anywhere_ for too long, too far from Aziraphale.

“I can't believe you've started a cult" Aziraphale muttered. “What do they _do?”_

“Orgies, mostly.” Crowley answered. “Lots of food too, big parties, that sort of thing.”

“They’re all consenting adults, mind you, so don't get too huffy on me, and under no circumstances have I encouraged any kind of blood ritual." Crowley rushed to defend himself, absurdly not wanting Aziraphale to think poorly of him, when, you know _Demon_ , kind of unavoidable. "I honestly expected them to get bored long before this, but they just keep _escalating._ ” 

“That’s what cults _do_ , my dear. I should leave you to your misery, you got yourself into this mess.”

“No. Aziraphale, please. _Please_.”

“What do you want me to do anyway? You're going to crush them if I come in there and disparage you.”

“How about a spectacular battle?" Crowley suggested frantically "They haven't been around long enough to have developed too deep of a mythos, they'll just make something up! Come on, Angel, they'll find another cult, these aren’t lifelong believer types.”

“You want to stage a _fight?”_

“Yes!” Crowley thought that it might even work. He could drop some ominous hints, maybe steal some apocalyptic prophecies from various world religions. He was really quite certain that his followers were more like a... really exuberant club, rather than a cult anyway. Well, except for the human sacrifices, and those were a new development anyway. 

“Okay fine, fine. You'll have to wait a bit though, I’m rather busy with a blessing at the moment.”

“That's fine!” said Crowley “That's perfect, I'll sow some seeds of dissent while I wait. Thank you, Angel, thank you.”

“You're hopeless, my dear, I don't know why I put up with you.”

Crowley wanted to say it was because Aziraphale loved him, but that would quite literally be the definition of ‘too fast', he was sure. He also wanted to tell Aziraphale that it was alright that he was hopeless, because it was an Angel's job to guide the hopeless, but that was sickeningly sappy and Crowley could never allow those words to cross his lips.

He must have been quiet for too long because Aziraphale asked “How do I stop the telegram machine from talking?”

“Aziraphale, phones have been around for almost a century, how do you not know how to use them? Just hang it back up on the little arms.”

“Like thi-" the call cut out. Crowley hung up his own phone and flopped himself down into his throne. Maybe he really was hopeless if he constantly needed to be saved by a being who couldn’t operate a bloody phone.


	5. Plus One Time Aziraphale Was...: Snerson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Crossover with Steven Universe! This Chapter is completely unadultered crack. Enjoy.

The young man was quite exuberant. Aziraphale had heard strange rumours about the area and had come to investigate, but had discovered it was merely a case of a minor alien invasion. They happened from time to time. These ones seemed fairly harmless and seemed to be keeping themselves to themselves and dealing with the inevitable consequences of their rebellion quite admirably, as was the custom for extra terrestrial refugees. The young man he was currently speaking to, however, seemed to have not made the connection between the strange goings-on and the aliens living among them, and instead was quite determined that the cause was ‘Sneople' or, snake-people.

“No, dear, I really am quite certain that _Sneople_ are not the cause of the strange holes you are finding in the sand, rather,”

“That's what they _want_ you to think, man, don't be a sheep! Open your eyes and see the truth! Sneople walk among us and they control the media!”

“Now that's certainly not true, I know a snee- er, a Snerson and he certainly doesn't control the media. _Participates_ in it, surely, but _controls_ it, well that just seems too much effort for him to put in.”

“You've met a Snerson?” The young man yelled, then grew ominously quiet. “Ah yes, of course you must be right.”

Aziraphale felt quite satisfied with this concession, and was relieved the young man had seen sense so quickly. Now that he'd cleared up the confusion, he felt it was just about time to leave this odd city behind and return to London in time for tea. He was just debating the merits of chocolate or frosted biscuits today, and maybe calling up his ‘Snerson' to ask him ‘round for company when he felt a sharp pain to the back of his head.

“Ow!” He cried, and whirled around to see the young man wielding a large potato over his head. “What on Earth are you-

“AAAAH You'll release this man immediately you foul amphibinoid! You may not claim him as your host vessel!” He hefted the potato, seemingly to strike Aziraphale again.

“Stop! Stop!” Aziraphale held up his hands in defense, he did not want to actually harm the human when, so far, his only weapon and combat training seemed to be potato-based, and he thought there must be a non-violent way to solve this. “I'm not a host vessel for a Snerson!”

“Prove it!” The man yelled, waving his potato threateningly.

“Alright, alright! I'll call my Snerson and he can vouch for me!” At this point, it should be noted that Azirapahle felt rather ridiculous, repeatedly calling Crowley a ‘Snerson' and arguing with a teenager threatening him with a vegetable, but, he supposed, this was just the sort of thing that happened in towns that had suffered alien invasions, all the usual rules of society flew out the window.

The teenager was lowering his potato and looking at Aziraphale expectantly. Azirapahale looked around, but couldn’t spot a payphone. “Ah, I don’t suppose you have one of those ‘mobile phones' Do you?” He asked of the teenager.

The teenager looked approving upon this development and pulled a slim ‘smart phone' out of his pocket, offering it to Aziraphale. Aziraphale took it and typed in Crowley's number off by heart and held it up to his ear waiting for an answer.

“Hello?” Crowley drawled, sounding annoyed 

“Ah, Crowley, dear, I've um, run into a spot of trouble here in America, I was wondering if you might pop by to help? And I do mean ‘pop' by, dear, I'm not sure it can wait the few hours for you to get here.”

“Are you all right?” Crowley sounded quite panicked. “What is it? Angels? Demons? Oh, I should've come with you to that town you mentioned. Strange happenings are never good.”

“No no no, not Gabriel or, er Downstairs either just… just a boy with a potato.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment “A what?”

“Just get _over_ here, Crowley and I'll explain when you get here, it's rather a bit like your New Orleans trip.”

“Ah" Crowley said and Aziraphale could _hear_ him grinning. Bastard. Should’ve kept him thinking Aziraphale was in danger of _extinction_ , he should’ve.

Aziraphale took great pleasure in hanging up and handing the phone back to the young man. Ron? Was it? Chipman? No, that couldn't be right.

Aziraphale and the human stood silently staring at each other, waiting for Crowley to arrive. It became quite awkward rather quickly.

“Lovely potato you have there" Aziraphale offered “Good size, is the soil here quite good for root vegetables?”

“Hush! Do not speak your foul poison at me until I know for sure you aren't an agent for them.”

“Oh, dear.”

Other attempts at conversation ended much the same until finally a great flap of wings sounded and Crowley seemed to appear right next to Aziraphale on the sand.

The human yelled and threw his potato at him. Crowley swatted at it, looking perturbed. Aziraphale thought it odd that the boy would give up his weapon but when he looked back, he saw he had produced another one of equal size and heft. Where did he _keep_ them?

“What's this all about then?” Crowley asked

“Erm, this young man" Aziraphale gestured to his assailant “Thinks that I am a, er, a snake-person and has tried to club me over the head with a potato to release this vessel from my grasp. I was rather hoping you could… clear some things up for us?”

“What so _I_ can get clubbed over the head with a potato? No thanks.”

“Crowley" Aziraphale was not _whinging_ , he was simply voicing his disappointment. 

“Fine, fine.” Crowley turned his gaze to the young man with the potato. “This man is _not_ a snake person. He does not work for the snake people and never has done so.”

“And why should I believe _you_?” The human challenged him, hefting his potato.

Crowley’s lips turned down in annoyance. He reached up, slowing his movements when the young man threatened him again with the potato, and took hold of his glasses.

He slowly removed them from his face and Aziraphale watched the human's eyes widen in astonishment and his grip loosened on the potato. Crowley held up a hand for him to wait and shifted so some of his scales appeared on his face.

“I am an emissary of the snake-people, please do not be afraid, for I come only at the behest of this mortal" Crowley gestured to Aziraphale, Aziraphale had to hold his face very still so as not to burst out laughing. “Please put down your weapon, for my clan is peaceful and has no wish to harm humanity.”

The human's jaw dropped, and he obediently lowered his potato.

“I,” Crowley made a series of odd hissing noises, “emissary of the Snake clan of” he made more noises that sounded vaguely like they might be translated to ‘Crowley' if they were to be translated to English “recognize your ingenuity for discovering the truth about my people-"

“Sneople" Aziraphale whispered, having quite a good bit of fun now that he wasn't at risk of being beaten with a vegetable 

“- Sneople" Crowley repeated, lips curling up around the word in a smile “Maintain your vigilance, for other Sneople are not so forgiving as I, and have been known to swear blood vengeance upon any who harm our chosen council. Begone now, as I have other business to attend!”

The human looked awed, and stood gaping at Crowley for a moment before snapping to attention and saluting him “Thank you for choosing the side of mammals in the great war with the Sneople!” The human yelled, and Crowley looked thoroughly taken aback by the proclamation. “I will remember your clan designation and your name!” The human tried very hard to mimic the noises Crowley had made, and, Aziraphale had to admit, did fairly well for someone with the wrong shaped vocal chords and tongue for that sort of thing.

Crowley stuck his tongue out to taste the air and when he retracted it, looked mostly human again, save for the marking and the eyes, which he covered back up with his sunglasses. 

“Right" He said, still sounding a bit wrong-footed “Carry on then" 

The human nodded solemnly and turned around, only going a few steps before jumping and fist pumping the air as he whisper-yelled “I KNEW it!”

“Oh, dear" Aziraphale said “I Rather think you've gone and set him back further on this whole ‘Sneople' thing.”

“Hey, I just got you out of being beaten with a potato, are you really complaining about my methods?”

“Ah yes, I do rather suppose I owe you one. Would you care for a spot of lunch? I saw a little pizza place in town that seemed fairly popular. Care to try?”

“Sure, why not. Since I’ve come all this way.”

The Angel and Demon turned and made their way into town.

“He called you ‘amphibinoids'" Aziraphale complained “Snakes are _reptiles_ "

“Yes, Angel, I'm quite aware.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks in advance for all your kudos and encouraging comments.


End file.
